


For My Love

by Aurum262



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:51:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurum262/pseuds/Aurum262
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I apologize in advance if anyone is offended by my use of an adapted "Hail Mary" prayer. Given the obvious parallels between Andrastainism and Roman Catholicism, I thought it apropos. I mean no disrespect to the Catholic Church or any of it's members.</p><p>Update: I'm abandoning this story. Life is getting in the way, the story isn't panning out how I want it to, and, all in all, it's just too close to what will probably really be in Inquisition. I still want to write my Surana's back story but it'll have a different frame tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For My Love

My dearest, my lethal temptress, my Liliana. I write this because I fear my time grows short. My studies with Avernus have borne much fruit and I believe the Calling, far away when last we parted, has retreated beyond my natural span of years. No, it is a far more mundane foe, though no less deadly, who comes to claim my life's blood. I know not whence they have come or if I will be able to escape them with my life. If I do not give this record to you in person, for your safety and my own, please act as if I were dead. If I am, I don't want you to waste your life pining for me and if the Maker has not yet seen fit to call me to his side, I will not leave you in despair for long. Although I am beset by numerous and powerful foes, I will find some way to inform you of my survival within the month. Regardless, it breaks my heart to inform you that we must not see each other for months, at the least. The only reason you have been spared the attentions of my enemies is because of our separation of these many months. If we attempted to see each other again, I fear you, for all your skill, would not be able to survive for long.

I write this as a warning. The nature of my enemies can not be understood without context, which I hope to provide herein.

I also write this as documentation. I must leave much work unfinished behind me. Yet, without it's completion, I know Ferelden and Orlais will not survive and I fear the same will be true for all of Thedas. I trust you will ensure the pertinent information reaches those with the ability to use it and the character to use it properly.

Lastly, I write this as confession. The blessed saints write that none can go to the Maker's side with sins yet unconfessed and unabsolved. Though, at my urging, you turned away from the life of the Cloth, I understand you have returned to the Order of the Seekers of Truth. As such, I will have none but you as my final confessor.

In this world or by the Maker's side, I will see you again, my beloved.

Your servant,

Asha Surana

"Hail Andraste, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed art thou amongst all the Maker's children. Holy Andraste, Beloved of the Maker, pray for us sinners, now, at the hour of our death. So let it be.

* * * *

Orana Hawke regarded the note affixed to the black leather of the cover of the notebook. The last line, rather than reading "now and at the hour of our death" read "now, at the hour of our death". She knew the omission would not be lost on Sister Nightingale. What worried her, and what Sister Nightingale might miss, was the use of the plural "our" rather than the singular "my". She knew something of the author of the letter. If ever there was a woman to alter a thousand year old prayer to suit her own situation, it was Asha Surana. She was utterly dispassionite and a complete stranger to melodrama. That she left the possessive plural, combined with the generally morbid tone of the note boded ill for all of Thedas. 

As her foster mother had taught her, she hadn't disturbed the scene. Without moving anything else, she removed the book from the pile of rubbish it had been half buried in. She maneuvered carefully around the scattered debris and pool of blood scattered throughout the tower. When she reached the boat which had taken her to the tiny, storm-lashed island where Asha had taken up her research, she tapped the magical runes which propelled the boat, activating them, and turned it towards the mainland. As the island disappeared behind her, she made the sign of Andraste over her chest. Her mother had told her of the island fortress, once called the Aeonar, which had once been used for "research" by the Tevinter Imperium before being taken over by the Chantry to imprison maleficarum and those the Chantry deemed politically undesirable. Finally, the place had been stormed by newly minted Ferelden "special forces", the tears in the Fade had been sealed, and the Hero of Ferelden had taken the place over for her own research. Just as the place seemed to be ready for some peace, something, Maker knows what, had happened.

* * * *

Less than a week later, Sister Nightingale and her companion, Cassandra Pentaghast, stopped at an inn. They were bound for Denerim where they were tasked with seeing Iris Cousland Therin and Alistair Therin answer for their unprovoked assault on the Templar stronghold at the Aeonar. The facility was so secretive that it had taken the Chantry months to even realize the fortress had been taken. Now, with Cassandra's royal connections and Liliana's personal ones, they hoped to avoid an Exalted March against Andraste's very homeland being necessary. With the instability the Chantry already faced, such a move would practically guarantee that the Church of Andraste would cease to exist as a cohesive institution within Liliana's lifetime.

"Would you, by any chance, be the bard they call Nightingale?" the barkeep asked.

Liliana, alarmed, asked "Who wishes to know?" disguising her Orlesian accent.

"An elf-maid took a room not long ago and asked me to send a bard named Nightingale to her room whenever she arrived."

"I am she." Liliana said, cautiously "Can you describe this elf?"

"She were tall, slim, and had fair hair. I'm sorry, I can't recall anything else. She took the room and I haven't seen her since."

Liliana barely dared hope that Asha might have intercepted her on the road. Still, she wouldn't have put it past the almost disturbingly clever elf to track her to this inn on this night by the color and consistency of mud on Iris Cousland's boots or some similarly improbable deduction.

"Which room did she take?" Liliana asked.

"Second floor, end of the hall." the barkeep said, handing her a key.

"I don't like this." Casandra said.

"Dear sister, six people knew of my identity as sister Nightingale. The Revered Mother of Kirkwall, now by the Maker's side; The Hero; The Champion; The Champion's friend and confidant, Sebastian Vael; The Divine; and the two of us. Of those, only Asha matches the barkeep's description."

"Do you draw the right conclusion or the one you wish to?" Casandra asked.

"I suppose we're about to find out." Liliana said, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open.

The room was empty. The only thing out of place was a black leather book like a thousand others Asha constantly kept by her bedside resting on the bed. She rushed over to it and began to read the note written in Asha's razor thin and inimitable script. She read it over three times before the words sank in. While she read it, Cassandra picked up the book and tapped the lock on the strap which kept it closed. She yelped and dropped the book as a surge of magic scorched her finger.

Liliana, half in a daze, retrieved the book. As soon as she touched the leather, the lock clocked and fell open. She relocked it and took a burning stick from the fireplace as well as a clay mug and the pitcher of water waiting on the table in the room. She set the letter ablaze and put it in the mug. When the entire piece of paper was consumed and the fire extinguished itself for want of fuel, she crushed the paper to ash, mixed it with some water from the pitcher, and poured it out the second story window.

"Come on, we need to go." she said, flatly.

 

* * * *

When Liliana was convinced they hadn't been followed, they set up camp. Cassandra grumbled but deferred, as always, to Liliana in matters of intrigue.

Liliana opened the book and began to read.


End file.
